


runts of the litter

by days4daisy



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Crossover, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:20:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25412278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: "Will you, Prince Loki of Asgard, take I, Tyrion Lannister, as your husband? And thus, seal this bullshit-sham of an arrangement for our awful families?"
Relationships: Tyrion Lannister/Loki (Marvel)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 37
Collections: Battleship 2020, Battleship 2020 - Red Team





	runts of the litter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mysticaltorque](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysticaltorque/gifts).



The arrival of the Lannister delegation is a farce. Most diplomatic ceremonies are, with their parade of pomp from bygone eras. The ceremonial outfits, the gifts, the decorations. But at least those occasions celebrate great achievement; victories shared between allies. Or mourn a shared loss, an accommodation for a king’s passing and the naming of their successor.

There are also visits to celebrate a union of two houses, of course. These, like today, tend to swing from general pomp to lavish overindulgence. Far too many flowers died to adorn Asgard’s throne room. Servants of the house bow as the Lannister delegation proceeds. Guards adorned in cumbersome gold plated armor carry banners with the seal of the lion. There is the head of the household; the stern, slender-faced Tywin. Over the years, the Lord Lannister’s rapport with the All-Father has been...tumultuous at best. But they rode together into battle back when their aims more closely aligned. This voyage will cement the alliance between their domains if all goes according to plan.

Unfortunately for them, Loki is not always keen to follow a script.

Tywin’s golden children follow next - the twins Jaime and Cersei. Both are too blond and beautiful to tolerate looking at for long. In a different life, one of them would have made a fine match for Loki’s own golden brother. Thor stands beside Loki, posture straight and expression subdued. No doubt he received the same strict talking to as Loki did regarding his decorum at today’s arrival.

Loki wonders if Lord Lannister bartered with his father. Surely, Tywin would have preferred one of his children wed the future King of Asgard. From what Loki hears, the Lannisters do not accept anything less than the top. Loki cannot even fault them or their people. Power is a thing Loki craves as well - power, at least, to stand on equal footing with his brother.

But though Loki stands on the same step now as his brother, they do not stand in equal status. For it is not Thor being bartered off to the Lannister house for the good of their two realms. It is also not the beautiful twins Jaime and Cersei destined to unite their realms.

It takes Loki a moment to spot him. Tyrion. The imp stays shielded behind his siblings until they part ways to allow him through.

They’ve trussed the youngest son of Tywin in the guise of a warrior. He wears his own gold plated armor, helmet tucked under one stubby arm. It matches his sun-bleached hair, flecks of red sprinkled through the sunny shade. Tyrion approaches the steps of Asgard’s throne room alone, even preceding his father. Loki wonders if it’s the first time in his life this has happened. For the most brief moment Loki feels glad for Tyrion in the way one monster roots on another.

That is, until Loki remembers the purpose of this grand ruse.

Tyrion sinks to one knee before the steps of Asgard. “All-Father,” he greets, head bowed to Odin. Then, his head tilts. “Prince Loki,” he says.

Here, prostrated before the throne of Asgard, is the man Loki will marry. Loki gets a sharp look from his father when he sighs. But of the many options available to Loki at the moment, he thinks he’s behaved rather well.

***

Loki agrees to meet Tyrion in his study. His chambers would be too intimate for a first greeting, nor does he favor his mother’s gardens. Outdoor space promises the intrusion of onlookers seeking gossip before the royal wedding.

Loki removes his armor in favor of a green tunic and simple slacks. When Tyrion arrives, he has also dressed down - a high collared black tunic and black trousers to match. He seems to limp as he enters, favoring his right side, but Loki cannot say whether it is due to injury or natural stride.

Loki has to angle his chin down to his chest to watch Tyrion walk in. It makes him frown, though Tyrion’s ailment is not Tyrion's fault. Standing on equal footing, Loki is very aware of how ridiculous they appear. Loki, tall and regal. Tyrion...decidedly not so.

It is a disgrace to be forced to marry at all in Loki’s station. Weddings have not been regularly arranged in centuries. Not in this period of peace, where such unions do not strengthen wartime allies.

There is no reason for this other than punishment. Yet another bit of Loki’s freedom stolen by a father who lied to him his whole life.

“I trust you’ve settled in well since your arrival.” Loki speaks for the sake of filling the silence more than anything.

Tyrion has clever eyes, to his credit. He is apparently quite smart, an advisor to his father and more beautiful siblings. It’s the role Loki is to play as well when his idiot brother gets his throne on a silver platter.

Tyrion's face bears pleasant angles with a strong jaw and high cheekbones. His hair slopes across his forehead, and his skin is clean and smooth. Despite Tyrion's height, Loki sees that he comes from the same noble stock as his siblings. At the very least, Tyrion’s face is handsome.

“Quite well, thank you.” Tyrion replies with as little interest as Loki expressed in the question. “You and your family have been most gracious with our accommodations and provisions.”

“Just wait until the feast tonight,” Loki says. “My father spares no expense.”

The only question is, will Loki disappear before or after the feast? Making away now is a temptation. He could snap his fingers and disappear from Tyrion’s sight. But in daytime, an escape would be too risky. For now, he'll stay and wait.

“I don’t suppose your study stocks wine or spirit?” Tyrion offers the suggestion with a shrug. “Forgive me for the bold assumption, but I would say we’re both in need of a drink or twenty.”

On this point, Loki is happy to concede. Luckily, his desk shelf has appropriate remedies. One or the milder import wines for Tyrion, and a glass of Asgardian mead for Loki. The latter’s consistency will be a bit too strong for Tyrion’s composition. Will there be other things too strong for the fragility of Tyrion’s mortal race? A question to ponder.

Tyrion sips his wine with a grateful sigh. He drums fingers against the side of the gold chalice. “So,” he says, “here we are.”

“Here we are,” Loki agrees. Half a glass stokes a burn, but not enough for this present situation. He settles against his desk, chalice dangling between his fingers. Tyrion takes the seat before Loki, a gold footed monstrosity with red velvet cushions. Tyrion hoists himself up without losing a drop from his chalice.

“I suppose you’ll be the one doing the asking then?” Loki keeps his voice quiet and even, no need to show the storm clouds brewing behind his bored green eyes.

Tyrion shrugs again. “Yes, I believe that’s how it goes. I’m not sure why that’s tradition. Whether I offer or you offer, it’s a union of houses.”

“Very little about tradition ever seems to make sense, I’ve found,” Loki says.

The noise Tyrion makes says he agrees. He raises his chalice. “To the bullshit that is tradition,” he says, “and our meager parts in it.”

Loki snorts but bows close enough to tap his glass to Tyrion’s. It’s a small consolation, at least, to find that Tyrion is smart enough to recognize this lunacy for what it is. Given his reputation, Loki should have expected the candor.

“So,” Loki continues, “how did you get roped into this farce?”

Tyrion sighs and sinks back against the seat cushion. “I’m not sure I can say I was ‘roped into’ anything. That would imply that if I weren’t here to marry you, I would be off having my own choice of life and future plans. My one use for my ever-loving father is to better my family’s position among the realms. Money, power, status; if I wasn’t betrothed on Asgard, it would be Vanaheim, or Alfheim, or Fates help me, Midgard.”

Loki masks a smile behind his glass. It’s nice to hear someone else echo his loathing for the realm his ox of a brother holds so dear.

“If I’m being honest, given the host of other options available, I’ve done rather well for myself,” Tyrion says. “That is, so long as I don’t take one of your daggers in the back on our wedding night. I’m told you can become...quite stabby at times.”

Loki arches a brow. “Told by whom exactly?”

“Reputable sources,” is all Tyrion will say. Loki shrugs in return. It’s not as if whatever sources he has are _wrong_ in this regard. Besides, it’s likely good to hold this bit of a threat over his husband-to-be.

“And how about yourself?” Tyrion asks. “Why are they forcing you to wed the runt of the Lannister litter?”

It’s a bit of a surprise to hear Tyrion refer to himself in a deprecating manner. Loki has his sources as well, ones that say Tyrion has a sharp mind and an even sharper wit. But pride has never been something the youngest Lannister lacked, they say. He may stand at a shorter stature, but Tyrion holds his head as high as his brother and sister. And he’s known through the realms for his...reputation. A bit of a lech they say, prone to visits to whatever brothels and whorehouses a city has to offer.

But it’s helpful to know that Loki does not see Tyrion in a way that Tyrion does not already see himself.

“Because,” Loki allows a bit of anger to bleed into his voice, “my brother Thor will be King of Asgard. Once he is king, the only thing left for me is to stand as Thor’s advisor and offer council. Which he won’t heed, because he is as stupid as he is hard-headed. Beyond this role, there is no benefit I offer to my great home. This union will change that.”

“It sounds like we’ve both found more use than we’ve had our entire lives,” Tyrion says. He takes a long sip from his chalice. “I suppose we should be grateful.”

“Gratitude isn’t in my nature,” Loki bites out on instinct.

Tyrion’s lips twitch at the retort. “Nor in mine,” he agrees. “I suppose we have one thing in common. Wonderful. We’ve found our cornerstone on which to build a fruitful and long-lasting marriage.”

Loki huffs a bitter laugh. “You’re awfully optimistic about this sham,” he says. “What makes you think fruitful or long-lasting are possible with a false son of Asgard?”

It slips out, but Loki does not mind his error. Perhaps Tyrion will tell his father of Asgard’s scheme to unite houses with one who does not bear Asgard’s blood. It’s one way to be free of this burden of union, though Odin will never forgive Loki.

Tyrion’s eyes widen, a sign that his reputable sources are not close to knowing all Asgard’s secrets. After a moment, his expression loses its shock, softening into something more weary. He chuckles behind his chalice. “All dwarves are bastards in their fathers’ eyes. I suppose this can be the second cornerstone of our union,” he says.

 _I’m not a bastard_ , Loki wants to say. _The blood that runs through my veins is only that of monsters._ But he does not.

“Aside from these great pillars of marriage, I only have what I’ve learned and what I know. I’ve learned you’re a man of wisdom. You know history, and you know your way around politics and policy. I enjoy the give and take of ideas, particularly heated ones. In this, at the very least, our union will not be boring,” Tyrion says.

“I also know you are a great seidr master. The mystic arts are not an area in which I am well-versed. But I enjoy learning, if you ever wish to share your knowledge, or show off without explanation.”

Tyrion smiles. “And, you’re quite pretty too. If you never desire me, I will never warm your bed. But, at my basest level, I am a simple creature. You are long and beautiful in ways I cannot be. So while I may not have the opportunity to share your bed, I'm glad to appreciate you from afar.”

Loki scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Flattery, and unnecessary at that. From what I hear of you, many keep your bed warm more often than not. My presence won’t change that.”

Tyrion laughs, this time with genuine amusement. “Ah yes, the little imp and his insatiable ways. I suppose they’ve told you stories of my magic cock as well? Or have those tales not made it as far as Asgard?”

Loki huffs. “WIll mockery be our third cornerstone?”

“Candor, I think,” Tyrion says, smiling. “You’re refreshing. Where I’m from, truth is not the easiest thing to come by.”

Loki’s temper quiets at this. More than anything Tyrion says thus far, he can relate to these words. It won’t matter, of course, if Loki’s plan is to still flee as quickly as possible.

But if he cannot make his immediate move, at least this arrangement seems...tolerable. Perhaps it’s for the best that Loki drew the short stick of the Lannister brood.

“Fourth will be our complacency, I suppose,” Loki says. “I can't speak for you, but I don’t give a damn about any of this.”

Tyrion drains the rest of his chalice. “Fourth will definitely be complacency,” he agrees.

With a grunt, Tyrion pushes himself up and out of the chain. Before Loki, he gets down on one knee and holds out his hand. “And for the sake of complacency; will you, Prince Loki of Asgard, take I, Tyrion Lannister, as your husband? And thus, seal this bullshit-sham of an arrangement for our awful families?”

Loki laughs out loud and finds he sounds far less angry than he expects. With rolled eyes, he bends down far enough to take Tyrion’s hand in his own. Small, awkward, but with a warm and strong grip. “Sure,” he says, “why the hell not?”


End file.
